


The enemy of your enemy (looks a little too much like your future)

by TerresDeBrume



Series: AUs without a cause [33]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Peter. Killed. My. Aunt.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The enemy of your enemy (looks a little too much like your future)

“Not ready to come back out, I take it?”

 

Allison strides to the far end of the room to retrieve Peter’s life-sized mugshot from the wall, the heels of her boots echoing as loud as her gunshots against the bare concrete walls.  
She stands straight, shoulders tight and lips locked together, and Lydia has to run a hand though her hair—still so much shorter than she’s used to—to compose herself before she sighs, take a deep breath and say:

 

“You know you can’t stay here forever, right? If anything, you’ll run out of copies eventually.”  
“I’ve got stock,” Allison replies.

 

Looking at the spot she points, Lydia isn’t surprised to find a thick stack of paper in the corner or the room. There must be over a hundred copies there, and Lydia clenches her fists, tries to ignore her own feelings on the matter. It’s hard, but it’s not like she has a choice.

 

“I don’t think it’s very healthy,” she points out instead, but Allison simply shrugs.  
“I’ve been working with S.H.I.E.L.D since I was sixteen. I don’t care about healthy.”  
“Maybe you could try caring about healthi _er_ ,” Lydia snaps back before she can catch herself.

 

Allison strides back to her stock of pictures and discards the one she just used before she picks a new copy and goes to hang it up. She doesn’t usually waste that many movements, but Lydia doesn’t need to ask to know it’s probably better this way. It’s better if she can walk some of her anger off… especially since Lydia can’t quite seem to restrain her own.

 

“Apparently not,” she sighs, but the only response she gets is the deafening sound of Allison’s gun.

 

Lydia watches her go through two more pictures—clean shots through the eyes, throat, and middle of the forehead—before she gives up and punches her girlfriend in the shoulder.  
She’s not surprised when her back collides with the wall, brain bumping at the back of her head so fast she sees stars. Allison’s so close now, the smell of her shampoo—an unfamiliar, generic brand—fills Lydia’s nostrils, making her head turn.

 

“Peter. Killed. My. Aunt,” Allison hisses, growl so low even Derek Hale would be impressed. “He’s a murderer!”  
“He’s one of the few members of our team who didn’t go over to Hydra,” Lydia replies, straining to keep her voice under control. “He’s the guy who saved Stile’s life. He’s the guy who saved _mine_!”  
“She was my _aunt_!” Allison yells back, but the hatred in her eyes is gone, replaced with angry tears and an abrupt splotch of red sitting high on her cheeks. “She was my best _friend_! How could he do that to me? How could she do that to _me_?”

 

Allison’s voice breaks on her last word, and her resolve with it—Lydia catches her in her arms as she stumbles forward, tears burning a hot trail against Lydia’s neck as she releases all the stress of the past few days.  
Lydia pets Allison’s hair and rubs circles into her back, whispering shushing noises in the quietest voice she knows because what else is there to do? Things have been going to Hell in a handbasket for days now, with no sign of getting better—the news have been talking about the damage in Washington, about Captain America and Black Widow and all the things she knows being thrown out on the web in a giant free-for-all festival.

Lydia wants to comfort Allison, to tell her things will be okay, that she’ll get her revenge—that some day, somehow, she’ll find whoever turned her aunt and put a bullet through their head, and Lydia will stand by and watch… but how does she do that when she has no idea where they’ll be tomorrow?

 

“I’m sorry honey,” she says at last, hating the shivers in her voice, “Allison, I’m so sorry but I don’t know. I have no idea, I wish—”  
“I wish I could hate her,” Allison sobs after a long moment, “I wish I could hate her as much as Peter did!”

 

Lydia presses her harder against her chest, kisses the top of her head with the foolish hope that it will be enough—that their ragtag team will be enough because, right now, it seems it’s all they have.

 

“So do I,” she says at last, running a hand through Allison’s hair, “So do I, sweetie, but not yet. We’ve got to take care of her bosses, first.”  
“What,” Allison croaks out, “you mean the two of us?”  
“The six of us. Scott and Stiles said they’d come along, and Derek won’t leave them, you know it.”  
“And Peter?”  
“They killed my niece.”

 

Lydia’s fairly certain she must have bruised Allison’s rib when she jumped, but can she be blamed? She’s not usually on the front line, and knowing how to deal with this kind of situation is very different from actually dealing with it. Besides, Peter has always been a sneaky bastard.

 

“And as much as I’d love to take the credit,” Peter continues, face set, “Ultimately they’re the ones who killed Kate, when they sent her after us. Hate me if you want, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got more productive things to do.”

 

Allison doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t need to.  
Her mouth pressed in a thin line, her jaw set, shoulders squared—she looks every bit as determined as Peter and Lydia wonders, not without fear, if she’ll be enough to prevent them from becoming even further alike.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, all kinds of feedback are welcome :)


End file.
